


Brangle Street Lads

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [4]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:17:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14671881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When two of the travelers passing through the Stalag 13 Travelers' Aid Society have past ties to Corporal Peter Newkirk, the rest of the men in Barracks 2 think they might just find out the truth behind some of those wild and improbable stories the brash Cockney has told them.  Sergeant Kinchloe in particular figures there will be one very red face in their little group once the two men finish their own remembrances, and he figures it's about time!





	Brangle Street Lads

The trip in from picking up the downed flyers was silent, as usual, only whispered directions and orders, what with all the patrols roaming around. The two downed flyers were shaken from their experience, fear and desperation giving way to relief at being found by the two men dressed in black clothing who offered them reassurance and hope, though in low hushed tones. They were startled, to say the least, at their first view of their destination from outside the fence, and the trip down what appeared to be an old tree stump. For Newkirk and LeBeau, it was pretty much business as usual, though. It wasn't til they were in the lighted section of the tunnel and Newkirk turned around to properly greet and welcome the newcomers to their new temporary home-away-from-home that he took a good look and his jaw dropped.

"I bloody well don't believe it! Derrick? Kyle?" The shock was equal on all sides; the two weren't expecting to see anyone they knew among the men who brought them in through the woods from where they'd landed after bailing out of their two-man recon plane after it was hit, and Peter hadn't been expecting to see anyone he knew from the old days coming through Stalag 13. Well, he knew many of those from his old neighborhood might easily be IN the war, same as he was; bloody well knew plenty were dealing with the war, between rationing and shortages, all those away in uniform and now the blitz the bleedin krauts had started; still it was a big war, lots of places for people to be other than their cozy little Travelers Aid Society.

Still, they'd recognized each other right away once they were in the light; well, it hadn't been THAT long ago, after all, though the changes were evident. They were no longer brash striplings, but grown men of twenty and twenty-three probably; he was a good eight, maybe nine years older than Derrick, the older of the two cousins, and while he'd seen the boys right before the war had started, well, the years in the camp had taken their toll, there was no question of that.

He introduced them round to the others in Barracks 2, one arm clasped around each of their strong and fit shoulders, a huge grin on his face. "Derrick 'ere ran the Brangle Street lads back in the East End; Kyle was 'is second. Just young street louts they were, back when I was a staid mature responsible man already in my twenties!" He got a hearty snort at that, and not just from the two young men in the RAF uniforms, the two newest in the stream of downed airmen being smuggled out of Germany by the group. Somehow the words 'staid, mature and responsible' weren't what anyone seemed inclined to pair off with their sardonic, sarcastic, trouble-magnet of a teammate, not then, not now.

The guys had been welcoming of these voluble two, though, and frankly they were all quite interested in hearing some of the truth behind their resident Brit, him with the magic fingers and the highly dubious stories; perhaps a version of those self-same stories from a less-biased narrator than Peter himself.

His teammates wondered a bit if he was a little nervous at these guys showing up, what with them knowing him well enough to let a few secrets fall. He talked a good game, that was true, but they had their doubts, some more than others, (well, except for Carter, but they all knew you could get Carter to believe just about anything); well, they knew they had exaggerated a thing or two in the telling of their own stories, purely for entertainment value, of course, maybe left a few things out in order to slide over part of an event they'd prefer not to be totally open about, but Newkirk's supposed exploits, his women, and the exploits of his friends - they were well over the top and frankly unbelievable at times.

His stories about the girl, Caeide, who he and his friends had living and studying with them for a year, they were particularly suspect; those stories didn't really seem to fit with the letters she sent, the letters showing the now-a-young-woman to be so reasonable and practical and down-to-earth. In fact, Kinch had wondered more than once why someone like her would be writing Newkirk in the first place; it seemed more than a little odd, not like they'd have had anything in common, after all. Well, someone running a farm in the middle of Wales wouldn't really have much in common with a ne'er do well city wastrel like Newkirk, would she?

As for Newkirk, his teammates were mixed in their opinion as to whether he told all those stories just to amuse or distract them, or whether he was just full of it and liked to hear the sound of his own voice, mostly depending on how much in affection they held the dark-haired rangy man, or how much he had aggravated them recently. Probably that was part of why Carter believed just about anything Peter decided to tell him, Kinch reasoned, knowing that for some reason Andrew J Carter thought the world of their resident Brit, which the American Sergeant just thought was another example of Carter's overwhelming naivete. And frankly, that worried him more than a little; he was pretty sure Peter Newkirk wasn't someone Andrew should be looking up to like that. Someone that young and naive needed a better role model, someone like the Colonel, for example, or maybe Scotty Wilson, their medic.

And all those stories! Kinch in particular was skeptical; it wasn't that he didn't like Newkirk - he did, well, mostly, sort of. Just sometimes . . . For one, Kinch was a solid, down to earth, even tempered, church-going man himself. He admitted he found the Englishman to be unnecessarily volatile and pessimistic, and he could have done without the complaining or the temper, or those spells of total unrelieved glumness. He was uncomfortable with the very casual attitude taken toward the law, toward the morality Kinch expected in others; well, toward a lot of things. He appreciated all the multi-talented man brought to the team, he really did, appreciated his skills, and knew him to be a real bulldog at trying to keep them all safe. AND he acknowledged Newkirk had been a prisoner the longest of the command team, since well before the US even entered the war and had taken more wear-and-tear than the rest of them at the hand of the enemy (though Kinch thought a lot of that was because of the Brit's smart mouth and cocky attitude), but he found him equally irritating at times, and believed maybe a tenth of what the Englishman said, at least when it wasn't connected to a mission.

And then, there was that business with Colonel Hogan. Kinch was really uncomfortable with that, and didn't have any doubts about who was responsible for that situation, though he couldn't imagine how the obviously crafty and intelligent officer had gotten himself roped into that kind of mess. That was a pretty firm stroke against the Englishman right there, getting an American officer mixed up in something off keel like that, something that was not only just WRONG, but could ruin Hogan's military career if it ever got out. Kinch just kept hoping the Colonel would come to his senses and shut that whole appalling thing down.

No, Kinch was okay with working with Newkirk for as long as they had a shared purpose, but frankly, he wasn't someone the black man would have associated with on his own, not someone he'd want to associate with after the war was over, not like some of the other guys he could actually see him wanting to stay in touch with. He'd work with the guy, but it wasn't like they were ever going to become best buddies or anything.

(In later years, Kinch would think back on his early reaction to one Peter Newkirk and his fellow team mates, and would shake his head ruefully and laugh at his younger self, at all he'd been so sure of, at how well he'd thought he understood his fellow prisoners, even himself.)

They all sat together, drinking the miserable excuse for coffee, Derrick and Kyle talking over the old days, all the mischief they'd gotten into, all the mischief they related that Peter had gotten into, and they didn't spare his blushes any, though Peter was more than glad they either didn't know some of the more dangerous bits, or at least chose not to rattle on about them. The fact that Peter's history wobbled with gleeful abandon back and forth over the line of what was or wasn't lawful, well, that didn't much surprise them; he could hardly have learned all those skillful ways of his by attending Sunday School lessons.

They learned that his moodiness wasn't a new thing, or his temper, or his outrageously dirty style of fighting, or his sheer impossibility to deal with when he was sick. "Don't know who looked the worst, 'im for being ill, or Maude and Mari for 'aving to deal with 'im; pure wore em out, 'e did!"

They heard about his beautiful mother with the wonderful voice, who the cousins had never known being she'd died before either of them had been born, but had heard about from their own parents, and the younger sister who took after the mother so much. The team did the math, and it was a sobering thought to realize just how young Peter had to have been when that happened. They heard about his miserable old sod of a father, though just in passing, the same way they heard about his friend who committed suicide; the visitors tended not to dwell on the really bad, personal stuff, especially when that haunted look came across Peter's face and when the words had him searching the bottom of his coffee cup. They heard about Maudie's pub, his home-away-from-home, and Marisol and some of the others Peter had told such stories about, and now got the expanded version of some of the tales Peter had told the guys previously. 

They had the room roaring at their joint telling of his encounter with that new big-busted blonde barmaid at The Bull - "carpets out ta 'ere," Kyle said motioning to indicate what had to be a forty-five inch chest at least! - and her sailor husband. A husband Peter had been blissfully unaware of until the brawny man had arrived home from six months at sea seeking out his lady-wife, and at a most inopportune moment, causing Peter to leave rather quickly carrying most, well, actually all of his clothes under his arm as he dove out the window.

"'Usband, 'e 'eads back out to sea two weeks later; could still see the ship's sails in the 'arbor, and there she comes round, cuddling up to Peter o'er ta The Bull like nothing 'ad 'appened! And 'im trying to peel 'er off 'im and make a run for it, this time with 'is trousers ON, and 'er standing there preaching and moaning about 'im being so unreasonable; after all, the 'usband was due to be gone at least another three months! One for the birds, right enough, our Peter," Derrick proclaimed, clapping his hand on the older man's thin shoulder, blinking just a little at the feel of bone too close to the skin but recovering quickly, though with a fast look at his younger cousin, "but never one to dip 'is net in someone else's pond, not knowingly anyways. Plenty lively enough, no doubt a that, never a complaint from anyone about 'im leaving 'em wanting, not that I ever 'eard, even considering 'is advanced age," laughing and ducking as he got a growl and a mocking slap to the top of his head, " but 'ad 'imself this list of rules, you know." 

Derrick gave a deep sigh, and a roll of his dark eyes, using his fingers to enumerate all those tedious rules, "couldn't belong to someone else, nothing underage, no one working with a ponce, no one connected to the coppers and such, no one connected to the gangs or the bullie boys, no innocent Mary's, no one not knowing the score, so to speak, no leaving any with the chance of their apron riding 'igh."

The questioning looks from LeBeau and Carter prompted Kyle to touch his stomach, making a widely rounded motion; Louie just nodded in understanding, while Andrew blushed and turned to Peter, starting to ask a question, which Peter stopped with a frown and a curt, "not now, Andrew! I'll explain later!". He really didn't want to go into a lecture on safe sex with the young man right now, and knowing Andrew, that's what was coming!

Kinch had a rather odd look on his face, thinking about all those rules; Peter had never been one who impressed him for following ANY rules.

"Teased about 'im and all 'is bleedin rules, us younger ones did, but all round, not a bad way to go about it. Remember my da giving us a lecture, saying while 'e didn't approve of Peter in all ways, mind you, those rules, those were something 'e respected, and ones that could keep you outta a lot of trouble. Seemed to find a good plenty wha fell within 'is guidelines, anyway; sometimes wondered 'ow 'e found the strength, you know, much less enough 'ours in the day, tween the card games, lending a 'and to Maudie, work when there was any to be found, those 'special jobs' a 'is and all, and that one year, training the O'Donnell lass."

Peter grinned at them, and stated firmly, "good looks, skill, talent, and the proper setting of priorities, Derrick me lad, that's 'ow I did it, that and the knowing I 'ad a duty to brighten the lives of those around me!" That got more than a few groans and chuckles. 

Kyle took up the story, "Coo, some right lookers some a them birds were, too, and that black-'aired Duchess? Came to check the fabric warehouses, saw 'im, took 'erself a sample a what 'e 'ad to offer, then came round for seconds and thirds and more, she did, afore she finally took on a new 'usband, a toff like 'erself. Still came round once after that, as I recall, thinkin nothing was changed, but 'im with 'is rules, that ring put 'er outta the game, and she 'eaded back 'ome in a pout. Don't know I'd a 'ad the stones to turn 'er down, but 'e did!"

Kinch exchanged a rather odd look with LeBeau; the American sergeant had always thought Newkirk talked a good game where women were concerned, but Kinch didn't put much stock in any of it, considering some of what he knew and how wild some of those stories were. He thought it was all pretty much a smoke screen. Now, he was reconsidering his previous conclusions, was maybe thinking things just weren't as cut and dried as he'd thought.

Then Hogan, who seemed to be enjoying this visit much less than the others were from the rather pinched and dour expression on his face, decided he had to go visit with the Kommandant, and Kinch headed to the radio room. He was waiting on a transmission from London about transport for these two, and he could still hear pretty well from there anyway if he opened that little airway, enough to enjoy the rest of the stories if he listened closely enough, though he'd never bothered to mention the excellent accoustics to anyone; sort of his ace in the hole, that's how he thought of it, being able to listen for trouble and still do his job. Well, and he learned some pretty interesting stuff that way, too, some of which got passed on to Hogan, some that didn't. Louie busied himself with making strudel to bribe, uh, distract, Schultz, though he was listening too as he worked. Only Carter remained at the table, too enthralled to leave. Finally, the conversation drifted to the joint trouble the three of them had been involved in a time or two. They recounted the confrontation between his student Caeide and the Brangle Street lads, and the subsequent truce and alliance, though they were a little careful about outlining too clearly the cause for the brawl; that wouldn't have endeared them to this crew and they well knew it.

The two younger men had learned a little discretion over the years, above and beyond what the young woman had taught them that eventful day, and the sharp warning glance from Peter Newkirk reminded them of that. Their explanation had been satisfactorily vague, just enough for the men to grasp that the boys had been overly outspoken in their negative opinion of Peter and Marisol, more to get a rise out of Caeide than from believing any of it, and had gotten solidly trounced for it by the girl, them still thinking she was a boy at the time.

"Talking pure rot, we were acourse, said things my da took his fist upside our 'eads for later for spoutin' such about good neighbors, us thinking it'd get 'er, or rather 'im going, and were more right than we'd planned to be, that's for certain. Sure wasn't plannin on the black eye she gave me, nor the sprung wrist, or the broken nose she gave Derrick, 'ere."

Derrick chucked ruefully, rubbing one finger across that lump at the bridge of his nose.

"Pure bloody pissy about it, she was; thought the world and all of this one, for some reason," Kyle said, jerking his chin at Newkirk with a teasing grin, getting his own slap upside his blond head, "and Marisol and Maudie too, though that made some sense, and made no shakes about it either. Coo, almost as dirty a fighter as 'imself, and twasn't 'im what taught 'er either, 'adn't been there long enough for it to 'ave been, not as bloody good as she was! And if anything, temper WORSE'N 'is, though both were mild enough til they were given good reason, I'll say that." 

Peter relaxed into enjoying this time with old acquaintences; it was easier now that Hogan had left, too; his odd reaction had put just a slight chill on the whole conversation. No, they hadn't been running mates, him and the Brangle Street lads, them being so much younger; not like Charlie or Mike or Davie, or even more casually seen drinking or card playing blokes like Mick Donovan or Goniff Grainger, but to see anyone from home, someone he remembered and who remembered him in a friendly way, well, that was a gift, right enough, one he'd not been expecting.

The next story, though, Peter wasn't expecting that either, not at all. Well, the tale of the Outterling brothers, that wasn't so unexpected, since it was Derrick who had seen the ambush and gone running to fetch Peter's friends to help, but the rest of it? Well, that was more of a revelation to him.

"Give me the new knife 'er da 'ad just sent 'er, a right fine one, perfect fighting balance, six inch blade with a tilt at the end like I'd not seen afore with wire wrapped into the 'ilt so's it wouldn't slip if'n your 'and was sweaty or bloody, in thanks for me fetching 'is best china to pull 'im out from under those four 'ired bullies of the Outterling brothers."

Down below Kinch frowned in puzzlement, {"what kind of a father sends a thirteen year old girl a knife for a present?"} Then he snorted just a bit, {"probably the same kind of a father that would send a thirteen year old girl to study with Newkirk and his friends for a year!"} He had to admit he was offended at the very idea, and a little surprised at the obvious approval the young men held for the girl, especially considering the damage they said she'd leveled against them.

"'Those bullie boys, well, 'e 'eld 'is own for some time, 'im being a right wicked one in a dust up, but twas four of them, bully clubs and all. Right banged up, 'e was, and all to the purpose of 'im being a message for everyone to stay away from their bloody convoy. You'd think putting the word out at the pubs and on the docks woulda done that just as well; weren't like that was 'is lay to begin with; don't know I ever 'eard a 'im working that way - takes a gang, that does, and 'e worked alone, inside stuff cept for the fingers. And while the whiskey and smokes, well, he'd've 'ad no problem with that, the other, any of the Aunties and such - not something 'e'd touch, for 'imself or for others. 'Elped Maudie keep all that outta 'er pub, for sure, let us younger ones in the neighborhood know what 'e thought, too. Tossed more'n a few packs down the sewers til everyone knew not to bring it round. Imagine lots a the rats down there were walking around wobble-eyed for awhile!" Matters paused while Derrick took a swig of coffee, and Peter interpreted 'Aunties' as "any of the 'ard stuff, heroin, cocaine, opium, that sorta trash".

Derrick continued, "AND for all the good it did; bloody convoy disappeared into nowhere, and the Outterlings and their 'ires bloody furious about it too. Went lookin for Peter again, not that there was any more reason to than first time around; everyone pretty well knew it was Frankie V what would be looking at it, what took it. They just didn't have the corfies to brace 'im and 'ad to tell their bosses somethin, I s'pose! Me n' Kyle saw em leaving Maude's place, bloody pissed they were, yellin, making threats about comin back and burning the place to the ground, what they'd be takin turns doing to the women, then gutting Peter and worse, finishing 'im off slow after making 'im watch all the rest; saw 'er slipping out after them. Worried she might be 'eaded into trouble, you know; thinking she might brace em, trying to warn em off, knowing 'ow she was right fierce about Peter and the others, and maybe forgetting to be cautious where they were concerned, so's we followed along, thinking to protect 'er, you know, move between, let 'er take off if it got rough."

He shook his head with a rueful laugh, taking another sip of coffee. "Anyways, that knife - 'Ad it for just that few days afore I give it back to 'er. Figured she'd be needing it more'n me; sides, anyone deserved that knife, it was 'er. Took out those four bullies as sweet as anything I've ever seen. First, the main one, the one who settled on Peter being the one chosen to be the message, setting 'im up for the beating? The one making all the threats now? Right across 'is weasel, first step out from the alley, ear to bloody ear she got 'im," motioning with a slice of his hand across his throat. "Knife again for the other two, blade snapped on the second, took the last one with 'er popgun, right through the ticker. Like I said, Kyle and me 'ad followed 'er, wanting to see what she was up to, thinking to pull 'er outta trouble, maybe; was over by the time we figured out w'at was 'appening. Ended up, all we could do to 'elp was with getting w'at was left of them down to the car she'd snaffled and dumping them in the river. She was the one remembered to pry that piece a blade from the one's chest, so there'd be no trace left."

If he noticed Peter sitting there staring at him with his jaw dropped to his chest, he didn't react to it. LeBeau had stopped stirring the mixture in that big bowl, and was doing a goodly bit of staring as well, and down in the tunnel, Kinch was staring upwards toward the barracks in shock. Somehow the question of what kind of father would send his daughter a knife as a gift, well, that wasn't so much a question anymore, as much as the sudden realization of just what kind of a daughter would appreciate such a gift. Carter just looked fascinated, his mouth open just a bit in wonder. The stories about the thirteen-year old Caeide just kept getting better and better, to his way of thinking, and he really hoped he'd get to meet her someday. It was like listening to his dad tell stories about the women warriers of the Plains Indians. {"I mean, WOW!"}

Kyle snorted, looked around and shoved at his cousin's shoulder with one big hand and said to Derrick, "we're standin there, watching 'er wipe the splatters of blood off'n 'er face, and you, you great looby, you beg 'er for a kiss and ask 'er to marry you!!"

"Well, she didn't take offense, though she turned me down nicely for both, I'll admit," Derrick replied with an unrepentent grin.

"Wait, you're saying it was the BRAT what took out those four and dumped them in the bloody river??!" Peter's voice was a little higher than usual, certainly a bit louder than usual.

Derrick gave him a mocking frown, along with a wicked grin, "and just who did you think did the job, 'ole man', the bloody Easter bunny? Coo, the look she 'ad on 'er face with those four! Never 'esitated, never said a bloody word, just stepped outta the alleyway and took em down, fire in 'er eyes, face cold as ice. That's w'at made me ask 'er about being me trouble and strife; imagine 'aving a woman like that standing along side you, watching yer back? 'Aving a woman with that much juice laying up next to you at night?? Man'd be right lucky, 'e would! Knew I wouldn't measure up to YOU in 'er eyes, don't think the bleedin Lord Mayor a London coulda done that, but still, worth a good try, what with you and all your rules putting 'er up outta your reach."

Peter took another sip of his coffee, deciding to ignore that last bit and just focus on the main; he licked his lips, then bit at the bottom one while he considered, and shook his head, looked at them, sheer disgust on his face. "Bloody 'ell! She sat there, the Brat, me laid up in that bed I couldn't even get up and walk away from without 'elp, the bleedin bobbies standing there questioning me about taking down them four sods ending up in the river; answered their questions with those big innocent eyes just as clear as could be - 'no, sirs, right bad shape 'e's was in, and still is. No, sirs, not left the room, well, 'ow could 'e, can't even make it to the loo without one a us on each side to 'elp 'im get there. No, sirs, no way twas 'im, sirs, couldna been!'"

"She sat there while that tame doctor a theirs joked about, the shape I was in, would more easily 'ave been old Maude or 'er, that youngster there' what took out those four, than it was me. Sweet and innocent as a lamb, butter wouldn't melt in 'er mouth meek and mild shy little miss! She sat there, after they left, listened to me bitch and moan and complain about the bleedin stupid bobbies thinking I'd 'ave been able to take them down; them not 'aving the bollocks or the sense to go looking to the Outterlings or those a lot more likely for doing the job. Just sat there, listening, and when I ran outta words and breath, 'anded me a dram of whisky, tucked the covers up close round me, then sang to me in that soft voice a 'ers, told some of 'er old stories til I fell asleep! Bloody 'ell!"

He swore, and Carter now watched and listened in admiration, many of those phrases not being ones he'd heard before. He could see even Derrick and Kyle were impressed by the variety and the sheer ingenuity of some of those curses. He tried to remember what he could, so he could ask Peter what they meant, later. {"But, you know, I think Derrick was right! She'd be someone really good to have at your side."} LeBeau grinned over at him, chuckling and shaking his head in amazement, and Carter somehow knew they were both thinking pretty much the same thing.

Still, he understood when, after Peter calmed down and was now actually starting to laugh rather sheepishly at himself somewhat for never having caught on, he looked at both of them and asked, "Maybe not mention any of this to the others, eh? Don't think Kinch or the Gov would quite understand; place like the East End, it's a different world from what they know, and someone like my Caeide, they'd not . . . Well, just best not to mention it." And they both nodded, thinking pretty much the same thing, {"no, I don't think they would understand, but somehow, I do."}

And Kinch, who'd been standing at the very base of that airvent, wasn't sure they were wrong. It was appalling to say the least; violent and unbelievable and just plain wrong; that was all he could think of to say, and if Peter had been the one telling the story, Kinch would have scoffed and made his disbelief known, along with his stern disapproval for putting the blame for those violent actions, the deaths of four men, onto a young girl. But this? With Peter being so shocked, well, he just didn't know what to think. He thought of those peaceful letters from the young woman, and tried to put the person who wrote those letters along with the person just described in those stories, and he just shook his head. Though, this story and the others, and some Peter had told, well, they kind of supported each other; kind of fleshed out the picture, so to speak, and an intriguing picture it was.

Not someone Kinch would aspire to taking as a wife, {"hell, no!"}, not a place he'd ever want to live, certainly, but still, intriguing, especially with what the two young men had said, about all the women, all those rules, and Maude and Marisol and Peter forming their own 'family', about no one measuring up to Peter in the girl's eyes. And, he found his picture of his teammate shifting somewhat too, and knew he'd be paying more attention in the future, not being quite so skeptical of some of Newkirk's wild stories, maybe not so quick to assign blame or place fault as he had been, maybe a little more understanding of the odd fits and starts the Brit came out with.

And he knew this was going to be one of those things he overheard that he would NOT be relating to Colonel Hogan; in fact, he was a little uneasy at his recollection of the things he HAD relayed to the Colonel, now wondering whether his own actions, no matter how well intended, amounted to any more than spying on his own team mates. He'd be thinking twice, at least, before he did that again.

And Derrick started talking about his sweetheart Annie, oldest daughter to a doctor working out of the East End, an A J Riley. Seems his Annie knew the Brat and the rest of the lot, the brothers and sisters; had grown up right along side them, in fact, and had a lot in common with them.

"Part of what THEY call Friends and Family; like cousins, sort of. She's another of the keepers, you know; one a man can be proud to 'ave at 'is side. Sweet, and fierce, and loving, and a temper you'd bloody well not try, not if you know what's good for you, her being well acquainted with fists and knives and pistols and such too. Kyle, 'ere, well, I think maybe 'e 'as an eye for a cousin a 'ers, little red headed Dani."

Kyle grinned sheepishly, and nodded, "think twas all over for me when I saw 'er dealing with that rum bloke at The Bull; put 'er rhythm and blues right up his Gary, she did, never batted an eyelash doing it, neither, nor spilled her drink in the doing; never even lost 'er place in the conversation, she didn't!" and Peter grinned. {"Yeah, sounds like they found them a pair a right ones!"}

And he thought a few other things, though as always he made sure not to think them too hard, him being in the habit of sticking his head in the sand over a certain red-haired Brat. As long as the thoughts never made it from the back of his mind all the way to the front of his mind, it didn't really count, right?? RIGHT??!

He ignored Andrew when the younger man grinned at him knowingly and snickered; however he refrained from his usual snipping comment or asking what Andrew thought was so funny; he was half afraid Andrew would tell him! Though he knew he was in for a mile of questions from Andrew later, and though he wasn't looking forward to answering any of them, those puppy dog eyes, well, he never had been able to resist them. He sighed, knowing he was at the very least going to have to explain that 'safe sex' part, and with Andrew, who knew HOW far back he'd have to go to lay the basis for that. He snickered, thinking of that chart he'd seen Hogan use in distracting Schultz, the one that was supposed to be used with that 'periodic lecture the Red Cross insists I give, you know, Schultze' - the cartoon outline of a female, with the firm, kindly words by the Colonel. "Wo-man, repeat after me - wo-man". Maybe he could borrow that chart for his little talk with Andrew!


End file.
